THE FUGITIVE.

Otago Witness, Issue 4028, 26 May 1931, Page 77

THE FUGITIVE.

By Cicely Fox Smith. (Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.) “There! ” said Belinda, triumphantly, stepping back to survey her handiwork with her head critically on one side. “There! And if you ask me, I think it looks jolly nice! ” Strictly’ speaking, of course, this was a figure of speech, since there wasn’t a soul in sight who might conceivably have been expected to dispute the statement — except, possibly, the robin who sat on the mossy wall of the orchard, with a beady black eye cocked like belinda’s blue one on the effect of her preparations. If there had been anyone, that someone might quite probably have added a rider to Belinda’s remark, to the effect that Belinda looked jolly nice too; for with her fresh country complexion that knew not rouge or lipstick, her shingled head that glistened like spun gold, and her young supple figure in its faded frock of green linen, she was as pleasnat a sight as one could wish to find in an old orchard on a June morning. Toll Bar Cottage stood all by itself by the side of the old road to Windover. It had been really a toll house in the days before the new road was made, and coaches and chaises and horsemen with curly-briinmed hats, and farmers with buxom daughters riding pillion behind them had all stopped to pay their pence as they rattled and rumbled and jogged and cantered by. Those days had long been past, but a memory ,of them still lingered in the shape of a ghostly highwayman, who, so the story went, had courted the toll-keeper’s daughter, and been betrayed by her to his doom, and who lurked o’ nights in the shadows of the long copse a little further along the road. And there was still a certain amount of traffic which favoured the older route, especially at holiday seasons, ■ and on such occasions as the present,

namely, the day of the annual gymkhana at Windiford Park. Hence Belinda Arkwright’s brilliant scheme for supplementing the scanty family income by catering for the inner man of the chance passer-by. Hence an array of small tables set forth invitingly in the shade of the orchard trees, and a placard with the legend “ Teas ” affixed to a conspicuous trunk. Hence, lastly, the presence of Belinda herself in the orchard when the rest of the family—including the elderly and rather vague aunt, who had kept house for the young Arkwrights since their parents’ death five years before—had packed into” the ramshackle pony trap and gone off to the gymkhana. Belinda’s plan had not been carried into effect without opposition. Molly, who was 10, pretty, and inclined to give herself airs, said it was infra dig. Dick said the trippers would pinch the spoons. And Aunt Emily vaguely observed that she was sure it was very nice, dear, but she really did not think those dreadful people should be allowed in the drawing room. • “Dig. be bothered!” said Belinda stoutly. “ The teaspoons are going to be the penny kind. The people are only going to be in the orchard. And I want a decent frock.” And in the end she got her own way.

It was still earlj’ in the afternoon when she sat down in the orchard to rest before the anticipated inrush of hungry customers began. The day was warm, and Belinda was hot and tired; for she had been hard at work since early morning making cakes and-scones for the great venture. The breeze sighed softly, the birds twittered in the branches. She had almost slipped intd a doze when a new sound startled her once more into wakefulness. A grinding, a rattling, a puffing —a mingled whiff of smoke and oil and tar, obtruding itself among the pleasant scents of the country afternoon! The steam roller! A horrid thought dawned upon Belinda’s mind, and with a heart throbbing with apprehension, she hurried along the road in the directiori of the approaching intruder. It was too true. A large roller—a procession of men and carts, from one of which a resounding roar indicated that a load of road metal had just been well and truly deposited in the middle of the highway—and, last but not least, a board bearing the fateful words —“ Road stopped—steam roller at work.” Belinda’s eyes filled with tears of wrath and disappointment. Was there no other day in all the year they could have chosen? Alas for her cherished hopes! Alas for the tempting array of cakes and scones set forth upon the pantry shelf! “ We shall be eating stale buns for a fortnight,” said Belinda to herself, valiantly choking down her feelings as she went slowly back into the house, where Gladys, the uncouth village damsel who was the only help the Arkwright finances could afford, was rather sulkily arraying herself in cap and apron. “You might as well go, Gladys,” said Belinda. “ I shan’t want you,' after all. The road’s up, so I don’t suppose we shall get anybody for tea to-day.” Nothing loth. Gladys hardly waited to tear off the emblems of servitude; and Belinda, feeling thoroughly blighted and lonely, returned to the orchard with a book to while away the solitary afternoon as best she could.

The hours crawled slowly by. The steam roller, indifferent as any Juggernaut car to the plans it was flattening beneath its wheels, puffed monotonous!)’ to and fro. The shadows were lengthening when at last it packed up and went home, and Belinda, with a heavy heart, set about clearing away her wasted preparations. And just then a footstep sounded on the empty road, and someone paused by the gate. “ Say! ” said a friendly voice. “ Am I dreaming? Or do I see the word tea? ” The speaker was a tall young man, hat. less, in dusty tweeds; and he looked at Belinda as he spoke with the frankest, friendliest grey eyes she had ever seen. Friendly, however, without being in the least what Aunt Emily would have called “familiar”; so that Belinda, who had been just going to say in her most impersonal and business-like manner: “ Certainly. Plain tea, one and six. Or with fresh eggs two shillings,” replied instead: “Rather. You’re the‘first customer,” and dimpled into a smile. And Belinda’s smile, it may be observed in passing, was quite one of the nicest things in smiles that could be imagined. The stranger glanced carefully up and down the road, then he opened the gate and came in. “Gosh!” he exclaimed with a sigh, collapsing into one of the rickety basket chairs disinterred from the cottage lumber-room for the occasion. “ Gosh! This is great! Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw your sign. This has been some afternoon, believe me! ” He paused to contemplate a threecornered tear in the knee of his trousers. “ Been in a bit of a as you can see,” he continued." “ Beast of a car came busting out of a side road at about sixty per, and my bike—borrowed inci--1 dentally—skidded as I was getting out of the way and made a pretty tidy mess of . itself. And if you knew the escape I’ve had—but let’s talk about something else ” And—just how it came about it would be impossible, to say, as it always is in such cases—it wasn’t long before Belinda found herself chattering away with this friendly stranger as if she had known him for years. He instisted on coming into the kitchen and helping to carry out the things. He made the tea, and burned

his fingers on the kettle. And Belinda remembered when he reminded her that she hadn’t had any tea herself, so they both sat down together like old friends. The stranger had just passed his cup to be filled for the third time when Belinda paused with the teapot poised, and said: “Wait a minute! There’s someone at the door.” A curious expression—was it fear? crossed the stranger’s face, and he pushed his chair a little further into the shadow of the wall. “I—l say,” he said suddenly, “if—if it’s anyone—er—looking for me ” Belinda paused astonished. “ You—you won’t give me awav, will you ? ” v “N-no,” she said. “But—why ?” “ Never mind why,” he went on. “ I can tell you some other time. Promise! ” All right, said Belinda, and passed on to the house, to find the creeper-clad porch of the cottage filled by the bulkv blue-clad form of P.C. Huckins, the stolid and—be it owned—not over-bril-liant constable who officially represented law and order in the vicinity of Toll Bar Cottage.

Sorry to trouble you. miss,” he began, moistening his pencil and turnin'* over the leaves of his notebook with an air of importance. “But I suppose you don t appen by any chance to ’ave seen anything of a party?” “A party,” repeated Belinda idiotically. “What—what sort of a party?” “A party wot’s wanted,” replied* the officer impressively. “Wait a minit—ere s is description. Escaped from custody while bein’ conveyed from Windover Junction to th*e county <*aol Wearin’ tweed suit, no ’at. Gentlemanly manner, slight American accent. Prob’ly walks with a limp owin’ to slight injury sustained through leapin’ from movin’ train. Last seen crossin’ the fields in the direction of the Old Windover Turnpike.” Now, of course, the obvious thing for Belinda to say would have been something like this:

“Yes, I have seen such a party; in fact, he is in the orchard at this" very moment having his tea; and if you come along quietly and don’t make 'too much noise with your very large, flat feet, you will be able to catch him sitting.” But somehow she said nothing of the kind. And what she did say, in a queer mechanical sort of voice * that didn’t sound like her own at all, was this: “No, I haven’t seen anyone like that; in fact, I haven’t' seen anybody at all.” Why was she telling fibs like this, she wondered? She didn’t know. Perhaps it was partly that eternal something in woman which has led her to shelter the hunted since time began. But there was something rather more personal than that in Belinda’s case. She simply couldn’t believe that the young man with the honest eyes and the friendly voice and smile had done anything really bad. Perhaps he hadn’t done anything at all. One heard of innocent people being arrested, sent to prison—yes, even hanged, for things they hadn’t done. Belinda was naturally a truthful girl. In fact, as her younger brothers frequently said, when she told a cram it stuck out half a mile. And at this moment she was painfully conscious of sounding the most perfectly guilty idiot alive, and crimsoning right up to the roots of her hair.

Luckily, however, P.C. Huckins didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. He rattled his pencil on his teeth and surveyed the cottage and its surroundings with a look on his rather expressionless countenance which might equally well have signified disappointment and relief at the non-success of his quest. “ Reckon I’d better ’ave a look round them old buildin’s while I’m ’ere,” he said, “ case ’e’s stowed ’imself away anywheres. ’T wouldn’t be very nice for a young female if a wiolent party like that was somewheres on the premises.” “ Oh, thank you very much, Huckins,” explained Belinda hastily. “ but I’m sure there’s no need for you to worry. I should have seen ” But once P.C. Huekins had got an idea into his rather thick head there was no moving it. “ Reckon I’ll just ’ave a Ibok round,” he repeated obstinately. “ You never can’t tell with these ’ere parties.” He was thought not a brilliant officer, but he was at least conscientious. He did the job thoroughly. He inspected the empty stable and the coachhouse. He even looked in the henhouse for a potential party lurking among the broody hens. He crawled into the unoccupied pigsty. And by the time he reached the woodshed Belinda was getting desperate. When he had finished with the woodshed he would be sure to want to look in the summerhouse. And from the summerhouse he would have a complete and comprehensive view of the orchard and of Belinda’s guest.

A desperate idea flashed into her mind, as the constable opened the woodshed door and peered cautiously into its dark recesses. “Oh!” she exclaimed, emitting a well simulated shriek which made P. C. Huckins give an involuntary start backwards. “ Oh! I’m sure there’s someone there! I saw him move. There; behind the pea-sticks.” P. C. Huckins advanced boldly, announcing in a voice whose loudness was probably as much designed to encourage himself as to alarm the intended prisoner. “Ere, you! I arrest you in the King’s name. And I warn you as hanything as you may say ” Quick as thought, Belinda shut and bolted the door; then, fleet as a flying nymph, she sped over the long grass towards the spot where the fugitive was still sitting.

“ Quick! ” she gasped. “ They’re here •—now —looking for you. I’ve locked the door.*” “Are they, by Jove?” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet with an expression of the liveliest concern. “ I say, you are a sport!” “ I—l’m not,” said Belinda, “ I mean, I oughtn’t to, really. But—oh, I mustn't stay. Go, will you? Go!” And with that she turned and fled, only glancing back once to see his long legs disappearing over the wall as she turned the corner. P.O. Huckins was by this time bawling loudly and hammering on the door. “ It’s stuck,” shouted Belinda, “ it’s the lock. It slips. Have you—have you got hini?” “No,” said the constable, emerging, hot and ruffled, as the door yielded to Belinda’s well-acted efforts at release. “ Must a’ been a rat. My word, that door give me a proper turn! Well, I reckon I’ll be gettin’ along. ’E don’t seem to be ’idin’ around ’ere anywheres. Thank you, miss, I don’t mind if I do.” And in the pleasing anticipation of a bottle of beer he even forgot to complete his tour of the premises by inspecting the Bummer-house.

Well, reflected Belinda, so that was that! She had told a lot of perfectly awful whoppers, and helped a desperate criminal to escape; for had she not P.C. Huckins’s word for it that he wa/ a u wiolent party? ” She supposed she was an accessory before the fact, or something, and would get into no end of a row if it all came out. A nice end to her pleasant little tea party! It is perhaps hardly surprising that Belinda at this point sat down and indulged into a really satisfying cry. The hours crawled be very slowly, and at last showers of multicoloured sparks in the summer evening sky indicated that the crowning event of the gymkhana —the display of fireworks—was now in progress. The others would be home soon, and with a guilty start Belinda remembered that the remains of the tea for two were still in the orchard to bear silent witness to her crime. By this time it was almost too dark to see anything. Moths were flitting silently to and fro among the trees, and a hunting owl flew by with a swish and a cry that nearly made Belinda drop the tray. And then a sound from the summer-house made her pause. A sound that was neither owl nor mouse—and owls and mice don’t smoke cigarettes, either He had come back, then. Trembling with excitement, Belinda approached the door, and said in a cautious whisper “Are you—is anybody there? ” Somebody was there. Somebody who started up from the corner where he had been crouching with a savage snarl, and seized her by the throat, and clapped a rough hand over her mouth before she had time for more than one startled cry. "Holler, would-you?” said a hoarse voice. “ You do, and you’ll never holler again! ” Wild thoughts chased one another through Belinda’s brain. “ This man is going to kill me,” she thought. “ There is no one to hear for miles. The others are watching the fireworks. They don’t know I am here, in the summer-house, being murdered.” That one cry she had managed to get out before the merciless hand closed over her lips had seemed to her like a cry uttered in a'nightmare, no louder than the squeak of a bat. But someone had heard it nevertheless, and came storming over the orchard wall, game leg and all, and crossed the orchard in two strides, and sent Belinda’s assailant sprawling senseless with a blow on the point of the jaw, and the next moment had her in his arms, and kept on saying over and over in the friendliest voice in the world: “ Green Girl, Green Girl, are you all right?” “Yes,” said Belinda, “yes, .I’m all right. . Byt where did you come from? How did you know ” “ I heard in the village about that thug that made his getaway this morning, and I thought about you here all alone. So I came straight back, thinking I’d hang around till I knew your folks were home. Green Girl, if I hadn’t ” “ And—oh dear, oh dear, I do believe I’m the very greenest girl in the whole world,” sobbed Belinda, between laughter and tears. “ You see, you asked me not to give you away, so then ... I thought it was you Huckins wanted.” “You thought that?” “ I know I’m an idiot. And now, of course, you’ll be offended. But I didn’t fhink—you’d . done anything very bad ” ' J “You thought that—and you helped me to get away. Offended? Say, Green Girl, you—you’re a white man. And you were right. It wasn't anything very bad I was hiding for. “It was a girl I was running away from. A girl with a face that’s been in the flour bag, and a mouth painted on, like a clown’s. And they’d put me down to wheel her in a wheelbarrow at this fool gymkhana thing my aunt’s having. And I tell you, I was plumb scared. You see, it’s this way. A man doesn’t come all the way from British Columbia for his aunt to choose his girl for him. He wants to find her for himself—in an orchard—in a green frock—like I did ”